


Epiphany and cake

by imsfire



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Athens, F/M, Fluff and Feels, Food, Gen, Pining, Rebelcaptain Food/Travel AU, camera operator Jyn, foodie Cassian is a tv presenter, the next episode in the infamous Food Travel show, the travelling film crew come to Greece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-05 20:56:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15871596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imsfire/pseuds/imsfire
Summary: Maybe it isn’t so bad; another city, another day.  Another chance to talk to Jyn and eat with her, and watch her filming him and enjoying her work.  Suddenly and inexplicably it seems clear to him; he’ll get his second wind, the series will be a success, everything is going to work out.  They’ll work together fine.  They’ll still like one another when the shoot is finished.  It’s going to be okay.The lastest section of the infamous Food Travel AU!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cassian, Jyn and the rest of the film crew arrive in Athens for the first stage of their flying visit to Greece.

The first thing that hits Cassian as they come out of the terminal, hauling their wild assortment of luggage and looking around for the promised eight-seater mini-bus-cab, is the temperature.  It must be a good 16 or 17 degrees C here.  And okay, that _isn’t_ hot; but after weeks of northern European winter temperatures, culminating in the astonishing beauty and fairy-tale sparkle of a snow-bound German Christmas, the temperature he confidently described as _cold_ in October now feels astonishingly warm.  Balmy, even.  It’s comical; within minutes he’s perspiring in his jacket, and he hasn’t so much as looked at the parka stuffed in the top of his cabin bag. 

The sky had gradually cleared as they flew south.  First there were small breaks in the white, that allowed him glimpses of the Croatian coast with its lace of islands; then another bank of solid cloud, as brilliant as the snow over Saxony, and for over an hour the ground was hidden again.  But as they started to descend the cloud cover broke for good, like a clean line swept across the air, and the mountains came into view, rough gold and grey, bleakly rocky and definitely snowless.  Every ridge seemed to be lined with wind turbines, turning steadily in the clear air.  The valleys and coastal plains were startlingly green, the sea an assertive deep blue; fine golden roads looped between small towns like red and white tile mosaic, with an occasional glint of turquoise glass where a swimming pool caught the light. 

The towns got bigger, and joined up, and hugged the coast in a thick band of development; their plane flew over a massive area of docks, a petroleum plant, a bay lined with heavy industry; then another mountainside, its flanks half bare rock and half grey-green scrub.  The conjunction of grimy modern development and the rocky hillside is particularly jarring for being seen in sunlight.  It almost reminds him of home.

Over miles of chaotic gridded streets and concrete rooftops.  Another mountain, and a motorway like a ribbon hurled onto striped red and green farmland.  Another final approach, coming in to another new place, that once again is subtly distinctively different from their previous destinations, in its shapes and colours and patterns.  And then they are disembarking out into an airport suddenly weirdly just like airports everywhere.

Another city, another stop on this voyage that mixes fascination and constant jarring change, that increases his calorie intake and frays his emotions a little more with each day.  _Here we go again_ …

And then the shock of being warm.

In the car Jyn sits in pretty much the furthest seat from his, whether by accident or out of awkwardness he can’t tell.  He leans against the glass and tries not to look at her reflection, all the long drive from Elefterios Venizelos International Airport into the city centre.

It _is_ a long way, too, long and featureless, kilometres of reddish ploughed fields and monotonies of olive trees interspersed with warehouse stores and small industrial parks.  When they finally leave the expressway, there’s still well over an hour of stop-start driving through unprepossessing outskirts, among suburbs and strip-malls and streets of everyday shops.  Looking out he can see narrow sidewalks, concrete residential blocks and houses, graffiti and flaking paint on one, smart new marble on another, a shining car saleroom like a temple where the words Fiat and Volkswagen stand out on large signs in Greek…

It’s the first country they’ve visited that doesn’t use the normal alphabet.  _No, scratch that, Cassian; this **is** the normal alphabet here.  And don’t get too freaked out by it, because you’ll have another one to get used to when we get to our first Eastern European country._   But there’s no avoiding the fact that not being able to read the shop signs adds a strange edge of alienation to this particular arrival, compared to France or Germany.  When he notices at one of the innumerable halts for traffic lights that the individual road signs and street names are given in both Greek and Roman lettering, it’s almost enough to provoke a sigh of relief.  He may have to peer into stores to work out what they’re selling, but at least he’ll be able to find his way around.

Luke has managed to get stuck in the middle seat of Cassian’s row.  He’s craning his neck to peer out eagerly, first one side and then the other.  He never seems to get tired or jaded; his expression right now is brim-full of excitement, as if he’s expecting to see some glorious ancient ruin any minute now.  Shara and Kes meanwhile are on the back seat, and leaning into one another cosily; neither of them is talking and he’s pretty sure they’re both asleep.  Kay, sitting on Luke’s far side, is absorbed in his phone, no doubt reading up on the historical sites; Wedge _is_ asleep and Draven stares out at the passing streets and looks unimpressed.  Jyn, sharing her seat with her camera bag and the rest of the excess baggage, does likewise, and doesn’t look round.  The curve of her cheek is soft against the fluctuating light, and her eyes in the glass are distant and thoughtful.  Ah, yes, damn it, he’s watching her reflection again.   

Her reflection is so beautiful.  Always.

Another city, another day, it’s just a job.  _It’s just a job.  We promised we’d keep it that way._  

Just before he looks away, he fancies for a second that her eyes move and meet his, in the reflection, in the dimming and brightening glass, and a smile like a cloud-shadow crosses her face; but next moment she’s looking out again at the urban ordinariness and busy traffic of Athens.

They’re unloading outside the small hotel in a side street north of the Acropolis when Draven says quietly to him “How are you feeling?”

“Huh?  I’m okay, why?” _Please let it not be more teasing about Jyn._   He knows he was staring at her during the drive, but how to keep things right with her and keep this delicate balance happy, without overstepping or stepping wrong, is a puzzle he can’t crack, and he wants to, wants to so much...

“You’ve been very quiet today, that’s all.  You’ll need to find your buzz again before we start filming.  Did something happen in Dresden, Cassian?”

 _That’s none of your business._ “No.  No, nothing happened at all.” Nothing, except a something that makes all other somethings possible; only not yet, not now, not until the shoot is over, and it’s that _not yet, not until_ that is the trouble, because apparently his brain can be happy that Jyn likes him but it’s for a few days at most before spiralling into fantasies and frustration again.  And he has to come up with a better answer than _No_ to Draven’s question, and sourly-raised eyebrow.  He says “I think I’m just a bit tired.  Living out of a suitcase for all these weeks, you know.”

“Well, we’re not scheduled to do any formal shooting till tomorrow, so for tonight I want to play things the same way we’ve been doing in the other cities, get some informal stuff in the can, street shots, atmosphere, you wandering and looking relaxed.” By now one would think the _informal candid hand-held camera it’s so charming_ elements of the shoot had been his idea to begin with, he’s so insistent on having them. “So try to find your good face again if you can, yes?  And then for God’s sake get a decent night’s sleep, you look shattered.”

As if either of those things could be done simply by giving himself the order.  Cassian nods acceptance, not trusting himself to say anything in case a sour _Yes, Sir!_ slips out.

He’s never normally looking forward this much to a shoot being over, tired or no.  But when it’s over – when, when...

It isn’t over yet and he needs to get a grip.

**

Their Athens hotel is – different.  Cassian tries really hard to tell himself it’s characterful and quaint, and picturesque, but the word that keeps coming to mind is a sharper, more cynical one.  Cheap.  This has to be the cheapest place they’ve stayed.  It’s tall and narrow and the stairs and floors are creaky, and there’s no elevator.  They lug cameras and recording equipment and suitcases and all the other extraneous kit up three winding flights of stairs, to rooms on the top floor.  Dark passageways with institutional green walls and scuffed 1960s ceramic tiles, and a strong smell of cigarettes everywhere. 

At least his room is at the front; and although small, it’s clean and everything in the en-suite is working.  The window has a tiny balcony, and a view between rooftops of the winter sunset and the profile of the Acropolis in the distance. 

_Come on, Cassian, pull yourself together, here’s another bit of really interesting history, another country to taste, you’re just tired.  You **are** tired.  Where’s your enthusiasm?  _

He knows where it is; trapped, watching Jyn’s face in the shifting light and shadow, in that mini-bus from the airport.  Trapped, wishing he could reach out to her and say – and say –

Hell.  What would he say?  They’ve said enough, it should have been enough ( _she likes him **she likes him!** _ and he’s a quivery teenager again at the recollection).  What would he say to her now?

_I like you more and more, I want to watch you all the time and never leave your side._

He has got to put this out of his mind, and focus on the show.  Jyn is doing her job, he is doing his, this spark or tension or whatever it is between them, this _liking_ , has to be ignored somehow so they can go on working together. 

Focus on the job, like she is. 

It’s five pm, the sky is peach and rose-coloured, with backlit splashes of indigo cloud to the west, and he is tired.  But he loves his work and he is a competent adult, and he’s going to focus on that.  There’s time to be filled till they go out for their first meal and he ought to be out there, in this freakishly mild evening, exploring with Kay since he’s childishly nervous of asking Jyn to go with him again; he ought to be shooting pretty street corners or charming cake shop displays or whatever they can find.  Street cats; isn’t Greece famous for cute cats?  Not that anything much in Athens looks cute at the moment, even that brochure-bright sunset.

Dust and ashes, that’s what he feels like.  He ought to get his phone out, instagram that sky, perhaps take a selfie or two, post something cheerful about _another city, another exciting day blah blah_.  Instead he  lies back on the bed, toeing off his shoes, and lets every limb go slack. _Rest and breathe, take ten, come on, you can allow yourself that much._

He’s woken by a tapping on the door, and almost an hour has gone by.

 _Fuck shit fuck fuck_ –

It’s Jyn; she bites her lip as he peers round the door, and he realises with shame that he must be completely wild-eyed and messy-haired, and his shirt is hanging untucked from his jeans. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I fell asleep, did Draven send you?  I’ll be right there.  I’m really sorry, Jyn.”

“’S okay, no worries.  No, he didn’t,” and then in a rush she says “I just – Kay is out getting some background footage of the local streets and Kes and Shara have gone off to eat and – the others - and – I just wondered – would you like to shoot some candid stuff again?  It seems to be working, doesn’t it?   Draven likes it?”

She’s asking him if he’d like to come out and film candid footage with her; she’s asking, she’s actually asking, and he –

He can’t answer for a second.  Wants so much not to fuck this up.  Is gaping like a tired fish.  “Ah! – yes!” _no, nooo, too enthusiastic, you sound like some kind of maniac_ – “Yes, that would be cool.  Let me just get some shoes on…” He shuffles away to stuff his shirt-tails back into his pants.  When he turns back, she’s hovering in the doorway, looking up quickly as though she’d had her eyes averted.

“And maybe, um, comb your hair?” she says, gesturing, and Cassian flattens it with one hand as he sits down; hastily he unties and reties his shoelaces. “You were asleep, weren’t you?” Jyn asks. “When I knocked?”

“Yeah.  I’m – on a long filming schedule like this there tend to be, like, phases, you know?  Like, highs and lows, energy-wise?  Does that makes sense?  And I’ve kinda hit an energy low, I think.” He wants so much to make her smile and the nearest he can think of to humour is to add “Plus after the amount of good food we’ve had in the last few weeks, that airline meal today was _bad_!”

She nods.  She’s grinning, all the creases round her mouth awkwardly happy, her teeth showing slightly.  Properly grinning. “Yeah, it was shite, wasn’t it?  And there was hardly anything of it.  You’ve probably got low blood sugar.”

“Well, I’m good to go now, so shall we go fix that?”

She wants to be with him, she doesn’t feel inhibited; he can do this, he’s an adult, he knows how to be this thing called grown-up around women.  A woman.  Jyn.

Jyn has her small camera, the handheld one that makes her look like she’s just shooting a vlog for YouTube.  She holds it up as they get down into the street, checking and adjusting the light, raising an eyebrow at their surroundings. “Okay, we’re definitely going for the atmospheric look here.”

It’s an eclectic street, there’s no doubt about that, and Cassian finds himself grinning as he takes it all in; the pet store, the bakery, the hardware store, the grocery and spice merchants; small plant centre, cake-decorating emporium-cum-candy shop, tobacconists, Chinese fabric importers, shoe store...  “I don’t think we got booked into a tourist area this time, did we?” he asks into camera with a smile that feels better and happier than he’s felt all day.

“No, this looks very much like your bog standard local shopping district, doesn’t it?”

They film him looking at the display outside the grocery, and the vast tubs of olives, the strings of chillies and bunches of dried herbs inside; then stroll a little way down the street, away from the noise of the main road, and down a narrower lane that cuts in at an angle.  The paving is uneven and the gutters aren’t exactly clean, but it’s good to be out of doors and working again; and so long as they are filming, all their clumsiness with one another falls away, just as it does each time.  He can breathe again.  The evening air is getting cooler, but it feels like a hand blessing him.

Jyn stops several times to film graffiti and street art on walls or doorways.  Without the daytime sunshine it soon goes from cool to cold.  Cassian loops his scarf round and tucks it in, stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets; she films him strolling down the lane, past a small church in a garden, a pharmacy and another hardware store, towards the next junction.

And the smell of food.  There’s a restaurant where the two streets meet.

No, two.  No, _three; **four**_ ; it’s a whole convocation of them, with tables set out on four neatly-defined terraces each warmed by glowing outdoor space heaters.  Leafless vines hang trained on wires across the full width of the street overhead, and among the bare twigs swing strings of coloured electric lanterns.  The final section of street that’s covered by the vine is taken up by a large café and ice-creamery, which seems to be doing a roaring trade, for all the temperature has dropped so fast it already feels like winter again.  Waiting staff in varying degrees of smart or casual clothes stand outside each of the restaurants, surveying the passing trade cheerfully. 

The heaters belt out warmth, and the doorways pour out happy buzzing voices and rich, savoury smells; and as Jyn swings the camera round to take a panorama of the whole scene, Cassian finds himself beaming, not into the lens, but into her eyes.  He corrects his sightline quickly, and says “So - which one shall I try?” straight to camera like the professional he’s meant to be.

It looks from the food he can see being served as though two of the tavernas specialise in grills and two have larger menus.  The front-of-house waiter from one of the grill-houses is calling “Hey, hello, pretty lady, what you wanna eat?!” and Jyn pulls a face just as he realises they’re addressing her.  He glares at the man and steers her away.  One of the others is almost empty and one has plastic chairs and an off-puttingly comical menu-stand in the form of a fat man with a chef’s hat and bug eyes.  And that leaves the final place, which is the smallest; a terrace large enough for just three tables, a narrow warmly-lit interior, and an arched door on the left above steps down to a basement. 

What’s more, the name is readable, though he thinks it’s just coincidence that the letters are ones shared between both alphabets.  It appears to be called [Oinopoleion](https://www.oinopoleio.gr/index.php/en/).

Despite being the smallest restaurant it seems to have the largest number of diners.  Always a good sign.

“Come on, let’s try this one.”

The waiter at the door takes one look at Cassian’s light jacket and ushers them inside and towards the basement stairway. “Much warmer downstairs” he says reassuringly.

“It was so weird to be hot earlier today,” Jyn says, descending, the camera switched off and tucked inside her own coat for the time being. “I’ve been frozen for so much of the time, the last few weeks, and then –“

“Yeah, it felt really warm when we got here, wasn’t it?” And yet here he is, just a few hours later, wrapped in his scarf and regretting not having come out with gloves. 

But the downstairs dining room is deliciously cosy and by the time he’s taken the scarf off once again he can feel his cheeks starting to flush from the warmth.  Bliss.  He grins at the brightly-lit cellar with its neat square tables, the ceiling decorated with bunches of dried herbs.

Maybe it isn’t so bad, another city, another day.  Another chance to talk to Jyn and eat with her, and watch her filming him and enjoying her work. 

He looks at the menu in his hand.  The text on the right is in Greek, but on the left side there are English translations.  Bizarrely, [Pumpkin Pie](https://www.kopiaste.org/2009/10/kolokythopita-me-myzithra-savory-pumpkin-pie/) is listed, and not as desert but as a main dish.  [Oven-roast lamb with oven potatoes](https://www.kalofagas.ca/2013/02/10/slow-roasted-leg-of-lamb/) sounds good.  Or there’s something called [Chicken Kokkinisto](https://www.olivetomato.com/greek-chicken-cooked-in-tomato-kotopoulo-kokkinisto/).  There’s a mushroom dish listed among the appetisers, and [Big Beans](http://www.mygreekdish.com/recipe/gigantes-plaki-greek-baked-giant-beans/) sounds mystifying enough to be tempting; and [Garlic Sauce](https://www.olivetomato.com/three-recipes-for-skordalia-greek-garlic-sauce-and-its-nutritional-value/), which sounds – garlicky.  And [Baked Cheese with Hot Peppers](http://www.mygreekdish.com/recipe/feta-bouyiourdi-spicy-baked-feta-peppers-onions-and-tomatoes/) certainly has an appealing ring to it.  

 _Wines from our own vineyards_ ; and there along the wall close to the bar is a raised stand carrying a line of full-size barrels, each with a tap.

“I want the Big Beans,” Jyn says. “I mean, how can I resist something called that?  And Kotopoulo Kokkinisto because that is a hell of a name.”

“And I’m gonna have the lamb, and the baked cheese to begin with.”

They grin at one another, and without even being prompted, Jyn pulls out her phone and takes a snap of the menu, and another of the wine barrels. “Just a few titbits to keep Luke happy.” She taps away, uploading the two pictures and tagging them.

The red wine they ordered arrives with a basket of fresh bread crusted with sesame seeds, and a small dish of something mashed and oily-looking, and dull green in colour, which turns out to be olive paste.  Cassian dips a piece of bread and begins to chew; pours them both wine and tastes it, then takes a large swallow because _that is **nice** wine_.  Jyn is doing likewise, munching a slice of the bread, then picking up all the fallen sesame seeds with a licked fingertip.  

Suddenly and inexplicably it seems clear to him; he’ll get his second wind, the series will be a success, everything is going to work out.  They’ll work together fine.  They’ll still _like_ one another when the shoot is finished.  It’s going to be okay. 

Yeah, he was tired, and his blood sugar was low, because this is classic.  Feed him and give him a drink and he feels like he’s been refuelled for a hyperspace jump.

“So what do you think we’re going to be doing tomorrow?” she asks. “Has the boss shared the plans with you?”

He still can’t quite believe it, but it really seems as though she’s trying to be more open, to reach out to him.  He’d be a fool if he didn’t respond.  He smiles back at her, feeling his heart get warm as she brightens hopefully.  Yes, they can make this work; she already is. 

“The briefing notes I saw for this section were pretty sketchy,” he says. “I think Draven’s trying to adapt around how the way we shoot has begun to change.  I know the morning’s slated to do a segment with a local chef, about the way we think some foods and some dishes have always been part of a country’s cuisine, when they haven’t really.  That historical stuff, the educational side of things, we’ve only really touched on it so far.”

“Yeah, it’s a good point.” Their starters arrive and Jyn looks with interest at her big beans, which are indeed big. “Wow, lima beans on steroids.  No wonder they’re called gigantes in Greek…” She takes a forkful, savouring the flavours. “Mmm, this is good.  Lots of herbs.  But yeah, like this, for instance, this sauce is made of tomatoes, right?  Not native to the Med at all, but tomatoes are the first thing we all think of the moment anyone says Mediterranean food.”

“Exactly.  They’re from the Americas.  As are lima beans, actually.”  Cassian’s starter, in contrast to the large dollop of bean stew on Jyn’s plate, is a small dish containing a tinfoil parcel. Gingerly he unfolds the top, trying not to burn his fingertips on the hot foil.  A punchy smell rises, from a rectangle of white cheese reposing inside under a layer of shredded red capsicum and what might be diced chillies, with a dressing of oil and oregano.  He gestures at the dish. “And peppers, there’s another one.  From central America.  It’s definitely a theme we could bring out, now we’re into one of the Mediterranean countries.” He lifts out a forkful of the steaming hot cheese; it’s almost but not quite melted, and is first creamy and then tart in his mouth, the topping both juicy and spicy. “Mmm, ahh!”

“I ought to be filming this,” Jyn says round a mouthful of beans. “Your face.  You’ve got that having-a-religious-experience look at the moment.”

“I must have had that look a lot since we met, with the things I’ve had in my mouth.”

_Oh fuck, what, did I really say that?_

She’s already turning scarlet.  Cassian’s face goes hot with more than the tang of the pimientos and chillies in his mouth. 

“I’m so sorry, oh fuck, that came out really wrong.”

“It’s okay.  I should have – I mean, I know you didn’t mean it the way it – shit –“

“Good thing you’re _not_ filming, the amount we’re both cursing, huh?” He’s trying for a light tone, to put that ill-chosen phrase out of his mind, and hers, as fast as possible.

“Yeah.  But I ought to be, just the same.” Jyn pulls her phone out and fiddles with it, trying to adjust for the red-orange glow of the lighting. “I’ll get a pic of these beans, got to keep the fans happy, now they’ve been primed to look out for stuff from us, right?  Can I get one of your baked thing too?”

Glad of the distraction he unfolds the foil a bit more so that she can take a close-up of the contents.

“I have no idea how that’s going to come out, it may look a feta cheese volcano erupting…”

“Feta cheese volcano is a pretty good description.  It’s delicious.  Lots of chilli!  It’s nice to come across a dish with such piquant spices.”

Jyn checks the menu again and carefully types in the dishes’ original names and the translated ones.   Then says “I probably should film a bit too.  The video can cope with the lighting better than my camera-phone.  Want to take a mouthful or two and look happy?”

He complies, and ends up having to catch a string of melted cheese on his chin and lick it from his fingers.  At least that’s enough to get Jyn smiling again, though she tries to hide it.

Encouraged, Cassian asks “May I try your starter too?”

Jyn blinks. “Uh, yeah, okay.  If you want.” She holds his eye for a moment before adding ever-so-slightly assertively “If I can have some of yours.”

She’s still filming, and they’re tasting one another’s meals.  Draven wanted informal and he’s certainly getting it now.  Complete with wobbly camera work when she passes the handheld to him in order to steal a bite of cheese. 

Well, it can be edited in post.

Except, he has a funny feeling that won’t happen.  He’s smiling past the tiny fold-out screen at Jyn licking creamy feta off her fingertips, and she catches his eye, and smiles too.  They’re looking at one another like – like -

“Your main courses,” says the bearded waiter, and the moment is lost.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day in Athens, and things get off to a mixed start.

The sky’s clear again the next day, and just as she finishes dressing Jyn is disturbed by an impatient knock.  She pokes her uncombed hair back self-consciously and in the two steps it takes her to reach and open the door she has just enough time to wish she’d cleaned her teeth before breakfast. 

But it’s Shara, looking like a thunderstorm, and the only thing she says is

“No breakfast!”

She turns and stamps away up the passage.  Jyn calls after her, bewildered.

“Why?  What did I do?” No answer. “Shara!  What the fuck did I do that I don’t get any breakfast?”

Shit, is this something to do with those stupid Instagram posts she did last night?  Have she and Cassian inadvertently gone too far off-piste?  But all they did was enjoy a meal and a few glasses of wine; and maybe a smile or two, but that wasn’t on camera, what the fuck is this about –

Shara turns at the top of the staircase. “Not you.  All of us.  The hotel doesn’t do breakfast.  Whoever booked us into this place should be shot and then beaten up and then flown hanging upside down from a fucking weather balloon.”

No breakfast. “Ah.  Okay.” It isn’t an ideal situation; but there must be a café nearby, surely there’ll be somewhere they can all get a coffee and a bite of something.  There was that grocery, almost opposite, and the sweet shop on the corner… 

And at least she isn’t being punished in some ridiculous petty way for spending more of her time with Cassian.

She hurries after her colleague.  Below, on the second-floor landing, she can see most of the team are gathered in conference.  Luke is pushing coins into a vending machine.  As she reaches the group he turns holding a couple of [chocolate](https://www.ion.gr/en/products#-35) bars, one wrapped in dark blue and the other in pink with a design of almond blossom on the paper. “I got some candy,” he says hopefully.

“Any tea?” grouches Draven.  Luke shakes his head mutely and the older man shakes his own back mockingly. “Chocolate for breakfast, honestly?”

“It’s _good_ ,” Luke says, injured. “This one’s nut-milk and the other’s bitter chocolate.  It’s really good.”

Kay is leaning against the banister rail looked pissed-off; Shara too is still glowering.  Kes says to her in a baffled tone “Are you absolutely sure, honey?  You didn’t misunderstand something?  Maybe it’s served in some other place, I dunno, a mezzanine or something?”

“No.  I told you.  The woman on reception was perfectly clear.” Shara puts on a perfect Edna Mode voice “No breakfast!” She laughs, half rueful and half still furious. “I guess someone at the production company decided they won’t let us expand our budget any further.  Two camera operators, but no more breakfast.  We’re fucked.”

“Why, what’s up?” It’s Cassian, on the stairs behind her.  She glances up and can’t help smiling at how beautifully the light frames him.  Pity she isn’t filming right now, it’s a stunning shot, like something out of a neo-realist arthouse movie. “Why are we fucked?”

Shara explains.  Luke offers candy.  Kay watches, poised in anticipation.  Jyn remembers worrying last night that maybe his blood sugar was low; but instead of frowning or sulking Cassian just grins.

“It’s just a misunderstanding.  No way is the company monitoring expenditure that closely.  Come on, let’s go find a café somewhere.  Or there’s a bakery just up the street.  Hey, look, the size of some of the buffet breakfasts we’ve had, I’ve been amazed some of you had room for lunch.”

He catches her eye and smiles.  Just for her.  Her heart flips.  She hides it. 

She hopes.

“If we’re going out for a team breakfast I’ll just get my camera, then we can shoot anything interesting we find on the way.”

Luke has finished the second bar of chocolate by the time they’ve all found jackets and cash; she watches in amusement as he fiddles with the silver foil inner wrappers, twisting the two sheets together and forming a toy sword out of them.  He looks endearingly pleased with himself.  He’s such a kid. 

It takes less than ten minutes to stroll up the road, past the hardware store, to the corner of the main street, and just a single block down, past a busy newspaper kiosk and a large office, on the next corner is exactly what they need; [Crème Royale](https://www.cremeroyale.gr/), a bustling little café-bakery with tables outside and in.  Warmth blasts from the open doors, and a sweet smell of roasting coffee and bread fresh from the oven.  A line of people stand at a take-away counter but there are tables free and they commandeer a large one and a couple of menu cards.  Kes, perhaps trying to mollify Shara for having doubted her earlier, takes it upon himself to take everyone’s orders, and muttering “Two Greek coffees, one latte-or-equivalent, two double espresso, one tea” he heads over to the counter. 

He comes back after five minutes with a tray of steaming-hot drinks and a cheerful expression, and a large filled croissant in a paper bag. “There’s so much food to choose from, you guys, and it all looks so good.  You’re gonna have to go and decide for yourselves, I just can’t be responsible for picking the right things.”

“Buy one of everything,” suggests Shara.

“There’s, like, a lot.” He grins at her. “Go take a look.  It’s like baked goods central up there.”

Jyn is already filming, capturing Kay’s delight in his [traditional Greek coffee](https://www.kopiaste.org/2007/12/how-to-make-greek-coffee/), thick with dark grounds and heavily frothed, and Luke’s bewilderment at it.  She carries on as they take turns to go up and order.  Luke brings a selection of mini-Danish, Draven a crispy [spiral-shaped pie ](http://www.bite.co.nz/recipe/9770/Greek-lamb-and-spinach-spiral-filo-pie/)scattered with sesame seeds.  Shara, licking her lips, comes back with an enormous slice of baklava oozing honey syrup.

“Coming, Jyn?” Cassian asks, and before she can think better of it she’s carrying the camera over with him to the servery.  He surveys the range of cakes and cookies and pies and bread, casually pattering out a cheerful commentary in an aside to camera. “Wow, no wonder the others had trouble making their minds up!  This is all so appetising.  There are so many different kinds of baklava, I never knew!  And tray bakes!  And what is that?  They look like shredded wheat with nuts on top!” He peers at the label and reads cautiously “Katai-something?”

[“Kataïfi,”](http://www.mygreekdish.com/recipe/homemade-kataifi-recipe/) says the woman behind the counter.  She grins as Jyn swings the camera towards her and repeats cheerily “Kataïfi.  Very good.”

“And what about those?  Are they _churros_?  You have churros in Greece?”

[“Tulumba.”](http://www.mygreekdish.com/recipe/extra-syrupy-tulumba-recipe-fried-dough-pastries/)

“Tulum-bah?” Cassian starts to laugh. “I’ve got to try that!  Even the name is cool.  So this is like the Greek churros?  Are they fried in hot fat?”

The woman’s English doesn’t seem to extend to that, but she laughs back at this handsome man enthusing over her trays of sticky cake, and turns to point out where another worker is piping the long thin doughnuts into a deep-fryer. 

“I’ve got have a Tulum-bah!” Cassian says again. “And that other thing, the shredded wheat thing.  And some of the cookies – apple, please, and the ones with nuts on, and the stripey ones, and the jam ones?”

“You’re going to have such a sugar high this morning.” Jyn smiles.  The assistant is beaming at Cassian as she quickly folds and starts filling a take-out box with a selection of biscuits.  He is pretty irresistible after all.

“It’s a good way to go.” He crinkles both eyes at her happily. “What are you having?”

Some of the bread looks delicious, and there are wholegrain breadsticks as well, even ring-shaped ones, rolled in sunflower seeds.  But Jyn’s eyes keep going back to the spiral pies, and she points to one of those.  ”Please, what’s inside?”

“[Tyropita.](http://www.mygreekdish.com/recipe/greek-snail-shaped-cheese-pie-recipe-kichi-kozanis/) Cheese pie.”

Perfect; she nods happily and is digging in her pocket for change when she realises Cassian has beaten her to the money.  Okay, he did that.

Well, they went Dutch on supper last night.  She’s already repaid Kes for her espresso.  And no-one is watching.  She can let him buy her a cheese pie.

It’s a good breakfast, and their morning is underway.

**

It’s cold in the shade and hot in the sun, and it’s ten am.  They’re out of doors, on a hillside beside a small church, with a table-set and a panoramic view of the Acropolis and the oldest quarters of the city, to shoot a segment about vegetables.  As you do.  Business as usual, then.

It’s remarkably apposite to her conversation with Cassian the night before, the issue of everyone assuming tomatoes and peppers and the like are native Mediterranean foods when in fact they were unknown in Europe until the 16th century.  He’s standing over in their small set now, preparing to discuss an appetising display of veg with a fiercely charming Athenian celebrity chef named Mara Nephritis, who has Major Opinions about Aubergines.  They’ve had the same conversation twice already, once to rehearse and once for the main mid-length shots.  Now Jyn and Kay are setting up head-shots while Wedge darts between the presenters sorting out their mics. 

She hopes Mara didn’t hear any of Kay’s tactless jokes.  It’s not as though he doesn’t have a fairly odd family name himself, and if Nephritis means anything about kidneys or kidney infections in Greek as well as in English, Jyn is pretty sure the determined young woman will have heard all the jokes before.  Probably many, many times.

It might even explain her attitude.

Still, all Jyn can do is get on with her job.  The setting is beautiful, there are green pines behind her sighing in a gentle breeze, and in front is a view worth its weight in reaction shots.  A backdrop of gleaming rocks in the sunlight, distant moving figures of tourists winding their way up the path, the white pillars of a great ruined entranceway, the Parthenon beyond and the little Temple of Victory shining on its podium.  Here in the foreground, Cassian, wearing a blue linen apron over his shirtsleeves.  An open-air shoot, in January; and at least for now it’s mild enough for shirtsleeves. 

He has beautiful forearms, tanned and lean, with soft dark arm hair.  His watch sits firmly on a strong wrist.  She likes his wrists, the turn and shape of them; and his hands.

She needs to focus on – not Cassian’s hands.

When Draven calls for them to start shooting, Cassian looks across at her with a huge smile that creases his eyes and brings out his dimples.  Just for a moment; then he goes professional again, turning to Mara, repeating the script unprompted. “So here we are with this magnificent collection of fresh produce, all from local farms just outside Athens – Mara, what can you tell us about these beautiful vegetables?  I have a feeling that not all of them are quite as Mediterranean as we all suppose, is that right?”

At the end of the segment, Mara is supposed to fire up the small calor-gas stove on the set and prepare a simple dish of fried [aubergines and courgette slices](https://thebackyardlemontree.com/2013/01/29/tzatziki-and-crispy-zucchini-and-eggplant-fritters/) with [tzatziki ](https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/tzatziki)and [skordhalia](https://www.olivetomato.com/three-recipes-for-skordalia-greek-garlic-sauce-and-its-nutritional-value/).  She’s fluent and decisive, her English is excellent, but she’s impatient, and keeps carrying on with the cooking each time Draven yells “Cut!”  There’s quite a pile of fried vegetable slices stacking up.

Luke wanders over to snapchat the fries.

“Yes!” says- practically shouts – Mara abruptly. “California boy, you!  Stop hovering and come here, taste this!” She’s holding up a disc of courgette, hot from the oil, with a spoonful of the off-white skordhalia sauce oozing off it.

Luke blinks at her and across at Cassian.  Draven puts a hand to his brow and takes a breath, apparently about to call “Cut!”; and then stops, waiting.  Jyn catches Kay’s eye, and without a word they both go on filming.  Behind Mara’s cloud of dyed red hair, Cassian is grinning so hard his face is all dimples and eye creases again. 

Luke comes forward, tentatively, and she can tell it’s taking all his willpower not to glance at either of the cameras focussing on him.  He reaches to take the young chef’s cooking fork from her hand, but she twitches it away from him, making him eat the fried vegetable slice direct from her instead of feeding himself.  Their eyes meet and Jyn can practically see the air shimmer between them.  On camera. 

 _Ha._   Serve him right for his insistence that the fans like to see informal interactions and know the rest of the film crew are also enjoying the trip.  And for pushing her to get in shot repeatedly.  _Now he knows what it feels like._

Mostly, now, he seems to know what it’s like to be hand-fed with crispy courgettes and garlic sauce by a sparky woman with red hair and snapping black eyes.  He’s beaming at her over the food.

“Hey, that’s great,” he says; and Mara offers him another, and then eats one herself before feeding him a third piece.  In the background, Cassian quietly stirs the remaining vegetable slices in the pan before they can catch and burn.  Luke and Mara are looking set to settle in for a full meal when Draven finally gives the order to cut.

“I think we’ve got enough footage of the cooking and tasting, can we get on to the beauty shots of the final dish now?  And then the rest of us will pack up for lunch while Jyn shoots Cassian’s intro.”

The beauty shots are one of Kay’s specialisms.  In a moment of mischief, Jyn films him filming the full platter of fried vegetables.  _Let’s get everyone on screen at some point, what the hell._

Luke pops up beside her. “You should try some of those fried eggplants, they were awesome.  Wow, that lady knows how to cook!” There’s a faint shine of olive oil on his lips and he beams at her.  Garlic rolls off him.

“Wow, it really is garlic sauce, isn’t it?”

“Hell, yeah!  Don’t you like garlic?  I love it!”

“’S okay, I suppose.” Cassian is tucking into the fried veg now, heaping both sauces onto each forkful.  She watches as Kay adjusts the focal length to zoom in on his face.  He’s got that religious look again.

“Cassian likes it,” Luke points out the obvious.

“Yeah.  Cassian likes most of it though.  He loves good food.”

“Oh, I think Cassian likes some things more than others!”

“Cheeky monkey.  Watch out or I’ll get you into every shot from now on.  You’re already going to go in this segment if I have any say in it.  Getting spoon-fed by the lovely Ms Nephritis.”

Luke beams “Isn’t she cool?” It was like water off a duck’s back; he doesn’t even seem to realise that was a threat.  “Mara says eggplants are the King of vegetables.  They sure are when she cooks them!”

Mara is coming over to them, holding out a covered basket, and with a grin Jyn turns the camera on her. “Hi, Mara, were you looking for Luke?”

She doesn’t need even to try and push him forward.  He’s already beaming and bouncing. “Oh, hi, Mara, hey, those veggies were sooo _good_!  Is that some more you got there?”

“No,” says Mara Nephritis, smiling like a cat. “This is some of my New Year cake, [Vasilopita](https://www.sbs.com.au/food/recipes/vasilopita-greek-new-years-cake), I brought for your team.  I thought you might like to taste?” She lifts the cloth from the basket to reveal a stack of slices of golden sponge cake.

New Year cake?  That sounds splendidly traditional.  What luck that Jyn’s already filming.  But it should by rights be Cassian, not her, saying “Wow, would you like to tell us more about that?”; and Cassian too should be the one who gets to take a first bite on camera and grin with crumbs on his chin.

She restrains herself from gobbling ( _come on, woman, you had a big pie and two cookies for breakfast, you don’t need to be greedy_ ); calls out “Hey, folks, come over here, Mara has some traditional cake for us to try!” and holds steady to film the crew as they look up, as they smile and come across.  Cassian is almost jogging, though he’s surely eaten plenty of those fried veg, as well as a breakfast even bigger than hers.  Jyn hopes selfishly that there’s some of them left.  She wanted to try the fried vegetables. 

Then she’s distracted by the pleasure of filming him run.  He is adorably coltish for a grown man. 

Mara passes out the ready-sliced cake and explains it’s a tradition for families to bake this recipe and cut it on [New Year’s Day](https://www.sbs.com.au/food/article/2016/12/23/slice-luck-new-year), the feast of St Basil. “But because there’s a coin for good luck hidden in it, you have to cut the whole cake at one time.  So then everyone is trying to use up lots of cake before it goes stale.  In my restaurant we serve cake to all our guests on St Basil’s Day so we bake a great many pans of it and now we are making sweet rusks with the leftovers.  But I thought you would like to try some too.  It’s my grandmother’s recipe.”

Jyn dutifully films this little explanation, and everyone else eating, before accepting a slice.  Luke is onto his third, which at least suggests she won’t find it stale. 

On the contrary; it’s moist and syrupy, with a Madeira-cake texture and pleasantly fruity flavour.  She’s had to switch off and set down the camera; now her fingers are sticky, and she stands licking them repeatedly.  Cassian, beside her, is doing likewise; she catches his eye and feels her face go hot from more than the wintry sunshine falling around them.  Oh God, he’s so beautiful - he’s smiling at her and licking – licking – sucking – she’s breathing too fast and he slides his fingertips into his mouth - and then his eyes go past her and he suddenly blushes crimson.

She looks round, in time to catch Kay turning off his own camera with a smug air.

“It’s delicious,” Cassian says, breathlessly professional again. “Thank you so much for bringing this in, Mara!”

Mara Nephritis looks around the circle of them, and grins wickedly. 

There’s nowhere to wash her hands, there are no facilities on the hillside, just the church of St Marina and the footpath to the nineteenth century observatory and the ancient Pnyx.  In the end they have to crack open a bottle of mineral water for everyone to rinse their fingers.  Then most of the team begin to strike the set while Draven thanks Mara and Luke makes sheep’s eyes at her.  Jyn and Cassian have to get one more shot in the can; they need just ten to twenty seconds of him walking up the rocky slope, past the church, to be slotted in at the start of this segment.  For all the world as though he’d just gone for a stroll and chanced upon a famous celebrity chef cooking vegetables and doling out free cake spontaneously.  On a hill, in the open air, in January. 

Honestly, she really doesn’t envy the editor who has to make a joined-up narrative out of some of this stuff.

She hisses quickly to Cassian as they’re trying out the framing to get the backdrop of the Acropolis. “Tell Kay I will whack him with something if he doesn’t delete that footage of me just now.”

“I think it was mostly of me, but, yeah, I’m gonna ask him to scrap it.  This _informality_ thing is getting a bit much.”

“The cake was good, though.  I mean, no-one would blame you for licking your fingers.”  She feels mean, as if she’s reprimanded him.  But he just smiles, and his eyes crease up.  Hastily she steps back and lifts the viewfinder to her eye. “Right, let’s get this last shot done, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've found fairly typical recipes for most of the things they're eating. Vasilopita seems to be another dish where every family has their own variation; some of the recipes I've found are for a creamed sponge, some for a Madeira-type, some for a yoghurt cake; some have a syrup poured on while others are topped with icing, with powdered sugar, or with chopped nuts or sesame seeds.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team finish their filming in Athens and Jyn and Cassian spend some more time together. Shara's sense of humour gives "Tell me what you eat..." an unexpected social media hit.

The plan was to grab a quick lunch at what is apparently a favourite grill-shop haunt of locals, and then spend the afternoon in the [Dimotiki Agora](https://www.athensguide.com/central-market/index.htm), the city’s central market.  It would probably end up being barely three minutes of the episode, but to get the right footage could take a while, since they don’t really know what they’ll find when they get there, or whether stall-holders will be amenable to being filmed, or even still have shelves fully stocked this far into the day. 

Cassian was rather looking forward to it.  He’d always enjoyed markets, and the sky was clouding over, the temperature less brightly balmy than it had been all morning.  With any luck, there’d be an indoor section and shelter from the wind as it blew steadily more briskly.

They’ve bidden goodbye to Mara and now following her directions they set off to make their way down, passing a strangely bleak archaeological site along the open crest of the hill.  It’s noticeable that Luke lingers for a few extra minutes; he comes running to catch up, just as the rest of the group reaches a high spot with an even better view overlooking the Acropolis.  An information board declares it to be the [Pnyx](http://www.stoa.org/athens/sites/pnyx.html).

“The home of democracy!” Kay enthuses, gesturing as they walk on together across the top of the broad stone platform that dominates the bare hillside. “The ancient Assembly of Citizens met here.  This spot is the original Senate, Houses of Parliament, you name it.”

There are no seats, not even carved from the rock.  It’s hard to envisage; presumably ancient Athens had functioned in a rather rougher and less comfortable set-up than the average parliament or senate of today. 

As if reading his doubtful thoughts, Kay adds dryly “Of course, classical Athenian democracy was hardly what we’d consider democratic today.  A slave-owning society that believed women weren’t fully human.”

“Great,” Shara says. “So they had no tomatoes and they were fuckboys as well.”

At his side, Jyn suppresses a giggle; he hears her mutter “Why wasn’t I recording that?” to Kes.  She glances round as Cassian chuckles, and turns pink; hurriedly pulls up her camera to begin taking some shots of pine trees against the sky. 

Their path runs down, passing a stretch of crumbling city wall that gets some more of Kay’s historical enthusiasm, and joins a beautifully-paved modern pedestrian road, just by a[ little chapel under the pines](https://www.greeka.com/attica/athens/athens-churches/church-dimitrios-loumbardiaris.htm), and a closed café. 

Up ahead, Draven is waving a map.

“Ms Nephritis has sent us the scenic route,” he says crossly. “We need to go back over that way, past the entrance to the big stuff and we’re going to have to wind about through some back streets.”

“Hey, maybe she just wants us to see some more history,” Luke sounds defensive. “She’s proud of her city, I think that’s cool.”

Kay is giving him a look that can only be read as _Who the hell are you and what have you done with social butterfly Luke Skywalker?_ But Luke smiles, not even registering him, and sets off in the direction Draven was pointing with an eager air.

“And in other news,” Draven admits, with a puzzled glance after him “I’d planned for us to have lunch there –“ he points at the – very shut - café under the trees -“so we’re out of luck.  We’ll have to pick something up on our way back downtown.  Or else buy snacks when we reach the market.”

An excuse to buy snacks at the market sounds appealing to Cassian.  But Jyn stirs restlessly at his side, and he remembers she only had a few slices of the fried eggplants and zucchini, and a small piece of cake.  The rest of them ate far more; even Kay had stuffed himself on zucchini and dips. He says hastily “What will work best for you, Jyn?  Do you need any more restaurant footage before we film this market?”

“Hey, I just film whatever,” Jyn tells him. “Stick me in front of it and I’ll shoot till you say _cut_.”

But there’s something determined about her smile and her voice is just faintly wan.  She sounds in need of food; at any rate, if that slight change of tone were him, that’s what the problem would be.  It’s unfair to expect one of the team to slog on with next-to-no lunch just because the rest of them have been stuffing themselves this morning.

Luckily as they come over the ridge of land between the Pnyx and the Acropolis, there’s a stand selling freshly-pressed orange juice in the paved area next to the ticket office.  It takes a few minutes to queue and get juices for everyone, but the sharp-sweet taste and the sugar hit gives them all a boost for the walk downhill, through more pine-woods and ruins, and along the side of another huge archaeological zone till they turn right along a street lined with fine old town houses.  They’re threading their way through the old quarter now, and there seem to be ancient pillars and carvings in sunken fenced-off areas at every second street corner.  Luke is almost skipping and Kay reads descriptions from his phone and keeps telling Cassian to _come back and walk past **this** while I shoot for a couple of minutes_ …

At last they’re back at the big square with the subway station and the fruit-sellers stalls. Monastiraki.  Only ten minutes further now, according to Draven; straight up the street they came down this morning, and the central market should be just on the right past their turning.

Jyn is flagging again – hell, if he’s honest, so is he, and Shara too is looking decidedly flat.  Maybe they all started the day on two much of a carb-high and they’re paying for it now.  He wonders about buying the three of them some fruit; but the options appear to be pomegranates or oranges, neither of which is exactly easy to eat while walking up the road.  Well, they’ll be at the market soon. 

And it’s getting steadily colder and more breezy.  Okay, the hell with it; he speaks up quickly as they pass another café. “I think we should stop for a bite to eat.  Take ten, plan the afternoon.”

A distant voice from the past reminds him _Food is love_ and he tells it to hush.  He can’t dare let himself use that word, even in his thoughts.  They’re not even dating.  He just – he mustn’t, he can’t. 

But oh, how much he wants to.

It’s a good thing they did stop, since it turns out Draven wants to focus on the meat and fish sections and Cassian had been envisaging spending a lot of time looking at the olive stalls, the fruit and vegetables, to go with the item he just filmed with Mara, and the dried fruit and nuts.  Once Kay looks up Athens Central Market online, a full-on debate breaks out about whether Kes should go back to the hotel for a different mic as well.  Apparently the architecture of the main market hall has him worrying about echoes.  

Jyn  and Shara munch their gyros and pitta bread and let the rest of them almost-argue.  There’s a dab of tzatziki on Jyn’s upper lip and she isn’t licking it off.  Cassian drinks another fierce coffee and devours a toasted ham sandwich, and watches her.  He wishes he had the nerve to sneak a fry or two from her plate.  When he snaps back into paying attention, it’s to find he’s won the _what do we film?_ debate simply because the olives-and-snacks section of the market is mostly in the adjacent streets and looks, as Kes puts it, _less booming and noisy_.

When they reach the huge nineteenth-century market hall, it turns out that every aisle and alley is noisy, so the debate was a waste in a way, except that it got everyone to eat some lunch.  Face with a huge market packed with locals buying food and traders shouting their wares, and barely a tourist in sight, they all have a burst of renewed energy.   It’s a perfectly traditional scene such as might have been happening in any city for centuries; buzzing with voices and activity, and rich, overwhelming smells and sights.  Blood and fruit, the briny smack of the sea, the perfume of herbs and spices; the clatter of trolleys being pulled over marble pavement slabs, rattle of steel shutters and the thump of butcher’s cleavers, backchat of shoppers and stallholders (at least some of them probably saying _what’s a fucking film crew doing getting in my way_?).

The next two hours rush by, filming the contents of stalls, talking to the shopkeepers and their customers, shooting atmospheric footage of crowds of ordinary shoppers bustling in the aisles.  Cassian tries some thirty different olive varieties and countless nuts, and his resolve to just taste and comment and be filmed slowly crumbles in the face of all this deliciousness.  He buys a half kilo here, another there; wrinkled black olives and juicy glossy Cretan ones, salted almonds and roasted pumpkin seeds that remind him of home; buys some cookies as well, and a slab of salty white cheese he’s going to have to eat somehow over the next day or so, before it goes off without refrigeration.

Though if it gets much cooler, perhaps that won’t be a problem.  Well, they had a sunny morning, anyway.  Now they’re under cover the light is so different that it doesn’t matter if the sun has vanished behind clouds.  

Luke is snapping and instagramming, urging everyone to get in shot; Draven waves him off, but the cornucopia of good things to eat all around them seems to have softened even him.  By the time the evening light is oblique, the sun sinking low down a street at the perfect angle for it to shine down one of the aisles of the market, everyone is slow, and a bit footsore, but they are happily weary instead of crabbily so, and all slightly high on the amount of different nibbles and sweet and savoury snacks they’ve eaten.

Jyn and Kay both film him walking away into the sunset light, from two different angles; he sees them comparing footage on their little camera screens and congratulating one another on capturing the side-light so well, and his heart swells.

And for tonight at least, for Athens, that’s a wrap.

It’s starting to drizzle as they leave.

**

Next morning, back at Crème Royale (to the delight of the motherly woman on the baked goods counter, who makes sure everyone tries something different today) they sit staring out at the rain.

“We’re being picked up at 12,” Draven says. “Have we got all the footage we need of the city centre?” He takes a long pull of his tea. “Speak now, or forever hold your long-lenses.”

Cassian looks at Jyn, and at Kay; they both turn to look at Shara, and all three of them pull faces before looking back at him.  A shared glance of acknowledgment that this is altogether too dark and stormy a day for any of what now seems to be their director’s preferred relaxed, informal footage.  The best they’re likely to get between now and the mini-coach pick-up is moody shots of racing clouds and pounding raindrops in gutters. 

Kes shrugs and nudges Shara’s arm mutely, his eyes warm.  He nods towards Luke, who’s sitting silent, staring into the distance as if he can see the sun beyond the clouds.  It isn’t like Luke to be quiet.

Cassian remembers last night suddenly, when he and Jyn got back to the hotel, warmly wrapped in their coats and sharing an umbrella against what was then still just a light, chilly drizzle.  They’d had another delightful meal at Oinopoleion, and not even taken one picture between them.  No Instagram, no twitter, just a pleasant supper, a few glasses of wine, a chance to talk and relax.  It was, though neither of them had called it such, effectively a first date. 

So long as they don’t say it, maybe it doesn’t count?

They’d gone on from the meal to have an ice-cream at the place opposite, since cooler weather or not it was packed with Athenians having a Friday night treat.  And then a brief stop at another taverna, where a live band were playing noisy, clangourous folk music in a courtyard, under the glow of a line of hanging infra-red heaters.  Another glass of red wine, as rough as Oinopoleion’s wine was smooth, but all part of the atmosphere.  Music, a happy crowd, time alone with Jyn.  He could live without kissing her a little while longer, could live with the anticipation, if they got to spend times like this occasionally.

They came back up Evripidou Street to the hotel, rather later than the first evening, in fact it had been almost midnight, hoping no-one would see them; and they’d walked straight into Luke wandering along in a dream.

Absolutely in a dream.  He didn’t even see them until Jyn said his name, and then he jumped a foot and tried to laugh it off with a joke about being tired out.

Luke is never tired.  And there’s a large hickey on his neck this morning. 

Maybe Jyn and Cassian aren’t getting their hands on one another, maybe the obvious attraction between Shara and Kes is still staying professional too; but it looks as though their social media manager had a good time last night.

Nobody’s having a good time today, though.

“It’s half-past nine,” Kay says tetchily. “There’s two and a half hours before the pick-up.  It isn’t long enough to do any proper sightseeing but it’s too long to loiter over coffee.  This leg of the trip has been very badly planned.  Someone should let Mon know.  It’s terrible resource management.”

Jyn smothers a grin as Cassian says “Oh hush, Kay, it’s not so bad.  There must be something we can do.  A small museum or, I dunno, a historic church or something.  Or just a tour of cafés.”

Still grumbling, Kay pulls out his phone and starts googling “Athens small museums”.

“I don’t understand,” Kes says. “What was scheduled for today?  Can’t we just move it indoors?”

Draven shakes his head; pulls out his own phone to bring up a text message from the production manager.  He clears his throat and reads “Sorry abt short notice, cheese tasting cancelled owing to family sickness; plz shoot extra Athens informal footage to fill up time.  Mothma.”

Without looking up from his own screen Kay mimics “P.  L.  Z?  A.  B.  T?  Really?”

Cassian kicks him gently under the table. “Find us some sightseeing instead of being an asshole, please, Kay?”

“Oh fine, if you insist.  There’s a [Gastronomy Museum](https://www.gastronomymuseum.gr/exhibitions) literally round the corner but it sounds as though it’s very small indeed.  Current exhibit is about something called the Traditional Monastery Diet.  I don’t think that’s a weight-loss system, so presumably we’re dealing with what monks eat in Greece.  Then also quite near here there’s the [Kanellopoulos Collection](http://odysseus.culture.gr/h/1/eh151.jsp?obj_id=3320), which is a small historical museum in a restored nineteenth century townhouse.  Or if you want churches, how about Athens’ old and new cathedrals?  Which are next door neighbours in the aptly-named Cathedral Square.”

“Great!” Cassian is determined not to let his spirits be brought down by the rain. “Supposing we split up and get some footage of each of those?  Like Mothma says, it’s just filler in case we didn’t get enough material for the segment yet.  Shara, Kes, you could maybe go to the history museum and, I dunno, maybe tweet some funny stuff? - and Kay, you and Luke can do the gastronomical exhibit and – ah –“ Oops, he’s left out Draven in his eagerness to get Jyn for himself for the third option.  A trio.  Not _exactly_ his perfect choice of company. 

Luckily the director steps in before Shara or Kes can bring their wits to bear, remarking dryly “I’ve no particular interest in ecclesiastical architecture, Cassian, so if you and Jyn want to ‘do’ churches I’ll join Luke and Kay learning about the monastic diet.  It is at least tangentially relevant to the subject of the show.”

“Okay, fine, great,” Cassian says, hoping he’s managed to hide his relief. “Is that okay with you, Jyn?”

“Cathedrals?  Yeah, fine.  Why not?” She seems to be trying for a tone of polite diffidence but when he meets her eye she smiles and blushes again. “Let’s do it.”

The rain shows no sign of letting up and they go their various ways with coats wrapped tightly and hoods up, and umbrellas raised.  It’s still nowhere near as cold as Germany, but after the balmy weather of the previous day the chill and the damp nibble at exposed skin and wriggle down collars, and it feels somehow personal.  Still, at least no-one is mocking the fact he’s so obviously steered Jyn away for himself. 

It’s _possible_ none of them noticed, but he doubts it.

The walk to Cathedral Square takes them back to Monastiraki and on through a street that announces itself with a banner as [**The Most Famous Flea-market of Athens!**](https://www.athensguide.com/monastiraki.html) \- a street lined with gift shops and souvenir stores, ranging from the gorgeous to the fabulously tacky, interspersed with jewellery stores and boutiques, crafts and fine arts.  Whether you want football kit for AEK or Panathinaikos, or furs and diamonds, or a mug with a cartoon cat on it, it would seem this is the place to come.  On one corner a rack of t-shirts proclaims _This is Sparta_ unhelpfully, while others remind Cassian that Drunk Donkeys of Greece and Drunk Cats of Greece are curiously similar to the supposed drunk donkeys and drunk cats of Ciudad Mexico; and of course there are the inevitable variations on _My Mom/Dad/Uncle went to Athens and all I got was this lousy teeshirt_. 

Yet the very next window might hold a display of amber or Byzantine gold-work, or hand-painted icons from Mount Athos. 

Clear plastic sheeting has been pulled out over most of the souvenir displays, keeping the rain from spoiling the stock, while gold and jewels gleam through rain-streaked glass from inside the smarter stores.

Jyn films some of the classy shops, and some of the funnier and more bizarre bits of tat, and he posts a snapshot of _This is Sparta_ to instagram with the caption _**I thought I knew where I was but maybe not? #confused #ifthisisTuesdayitmustbeAthens**_

After five hundred metres of this cornucopia of mementoes, the street opens into a wide, paved square lined with bare-branched plane trees.  Ahead are the two churches Kay had told them to look out for, side by side; one large, modern, and with scaffolding over both towers, and the other so small it looks like something from a game.  Looking at the website Kay had linked him to, Cassian heads to the smaller church in fascination.  Surely this tiny building can’t be the old cathedral? 

A sign outside names it cryptically as the church of Agios Eleutherios and the Panagia Gorgoepikous; but Jyn is reading the same website as him, and the wording on that at least is quite plain.  This is the [Little Mitropolis](http://www.mesogeia.net/athens/places/byzantineathens/mitropolistop_en.html), the former cathedral of Athens. 

“It says here that almost a third of the fabric is recycled from older buildings such as classical and early Byzantine remains.” Jyn tilts her umbrella back and stares up from her smartphone screen at the little church. “Oh yes, look, there’s an old relief above the door with little ancient Greek people on it and crosses cut on top of them.  And look at these griffins - and the lion – isn’t he gorgeous?”

They walk slowly round the fairytale little building, counting the number of carved pieces reused decoratively in the structure.  There are several dozen, and a couple of broken classical columns sitting on the ground at the back as well, lying underneath a cypress tree. 

“You can imagine the men who built it, going through some old ruin and sneaking out the bits they liked.  _Oi, look here, Bill, here’s another nice bit of carving, pretty, innit?_ ” She shoots some footage of the dramatic sky above them, panning down to the dome of the church, and the carvings on the walls.  The old Pentelic marble is a warm gold from the rain and there are bright waterfalls of rain coming off the terracotta tiled roof and splashing on the pavement.

“Do you want to go inside?” Cassian asks.

“Yes, why not…”

Inside, it’s dark, and suddenly warm, out of the cold and the wet.  The air is sweet-scented, with frankincense and beeswax and flowers.  In the dim light, an altar-lamp gleams in the sanctuary, and solemn faces of saints stare down from a painted retablo the width of the building.  Christ on one side and the Virgin and Child on the other, and what must be St John the Baptist, plus another saint he can’t identify.  There’s something intimate about the scene and the atmosphere.  The incense smell is hauntingly familiar and Cassian stands rapt for a couple of minutes, not caring if he’s being filmed or not.  The saints and the Virgin watch him and their eyes are knowing, but not judgemental.

Jyn at his side takes a couple of steps forward, and he looks her way, expecting to see the camera lens.  But the mini HD camcorder is swinging from the shoulder strap unused as she furls her umbrella; and then she’s rummaging in her bag.  She’s standing between another large icon, decorated in silver and wreathed in flowers, with a tall silver stand in front of it that holds a tray of grubby sand and stubs of wax, and on her other side a wooden cupboard with a carved hollow on top, piled with slim beeswax candles.  As he watches, Jyn drops a couple of Euros into a collecting slot beside the candles, and takes one.  

Someone has left a cigarette lighter on the edge of the sand tray and she fumbles with it, unpractised as only a long-term non-smoker can be.  Cassian is just about to offer his help when at last she gets a steady flame, and lights her candle.

She must have seen his truncated movement; she looks up from the candle and meets his eye.

He can see small twin flames flickering, reflected in her gaze, a gleam that dances in the green of her eyes and brings out the hazel-gold flecks.

There’s a moment of stillness before Jyn turns back and carefully digs the butt of her candle into the tray of sand in front of the Virgin and Child.  She watches it for a moment, burning steady.  The whole tiny dark interior of the church is silent, bar her breath and his, and the whispers of the candle as it starts to burn down; and from outside, the rain coming off the roof, a happy white noise like a distant waterfall.  Soft and rainy, the light catches in Jyn’s damp hair and along her profile.

Not looking at him at all, she says “I’ve lost a lot of people who – I would have liked to – just, be able to share this with.  Places like this.  For them to see how things have worked out okay for me in the end.” She touches the shaft of the candle, though it’s standing quite steady, as upright and strong as she is. “I’m not religious, not terribly, but – it’s a nice thing to do.  To remember them.”

There’s a challenge in her eyes when she looks back at him, but also a vulnerability.  As if it isn’t just with her dead that she is sharing this moment and this commemoration.

Cassian swallows.  He has to nod, because for a moment he can’t trust his voice.  From very far away and very long ago he hears the voice that once called him _cariño_ and _mi angelito_ , that laughed and said _my lamb, my darling precious boy_ …

He goes over to the candle holder and buys himself one, too; lights it from hers and places it in the sand.  Has to clear his throat.  “I know – I know what you mean.  I wish my Mom could have seen me.”

Two golden flames in front of the Mother of God; his is slightly taller than hers, lit just a minute or two later.  Both of them flickering, dancing, in the sweet-scented quiet. 

“I was raised Catholic, but –“ he’s having to clear his throat again and his eyes are prickling, thank God she isn’t filming right now – “I’m not really religious anymore but – yeah.”

The twin flames are redoubled now, shining in Jyn’s eyes.  And he supposes, in his as well.  She reaches for him clumsily and shyly, and he takes her hand and holds it tight.  The rain sings, the candles dance, the Virgin’s serious mouth seems to smile in the glimmering light.

For a moment he thinks Jyn is going to embrace him.  For a moment, he thinks he is going to kiss her.

Then she squeezes his fingers and says “Want to get a coffee?”

Their candles stay, illuminating memories and the unseen dead, and they go out into the plaza and the rainy morning.  They’re still holding hands as they cross the slippery marble pavement, splashing through puddles, and neither lets go till the get to the[ café on the corner.](https://www.facebook.com/pages/Cafe-Metropol/113972148686774)

It’s comfortably warm inside and the windows are steamed up, condensation trickling decoratively, a murmur of quiet voices and a perfume of coffee and spice and of something frying.

Two elderly gentlemen are playing cards in one corner and at another table three priests in dark robes sit talking and eating.  Two of them have crepes and the third a huge slice of chocolate gateau with a dollop of whipped cream on the side.   The only other customers are some more bedraggled tourists escaping from the wet like themselves. 

“I shouldn’t be hungry,” Jyn says with a chuckle “but something smells divinely good.”

It takes a few minutes to get settled at a table by the misted window, with coats off and hung over chair-backs, and umbrellas propped dripping by their feet.  Cassian stretches in the warmth.  His eyes come back to rest on Jyn sitting opposite him with her nose in a folded card menu.  “Hot chocolate,” she says without looking up. “Even better than coffee.  And – do you want to split a crepe with black cherry jam with me?  I mean, that sounds pretty tempting, right?”

The real temptation is the thought of sharing a dessert with her.  Two silver spoons ringing on a china plate and clashing when they hit one another, watching her mouth as she eats and licks jam from her lips; he mustn’t, he _mustn’t_ , it’s so tempting but…  “We had cake for breakfast.”

“I know.  So just one crepe instead of one each, hmm?  And how about doing a quick piece-to-camera while we’re waiting?” Jyn gets the waiter’s eye and orders a hot chocolate, a double espresso and the crepe.  Then picks up her camera again and switches it on. “The light in here is lovely, so soft and calm, all that mist on the window is acting like a filter and the colour scheme is so good.  I could pan across from your parka on the seat there –“ she’s beaming at what she sees in the viewfinder and he’s beaming too at the sight of her, at her focus, how much she loves her work – “I’ll track onto your hands on the table –“ she mimes – “just like that, like you have them now – and up, and you’re looking out at the rain –“ She glances up at him and he nods, and she repeats the movements with the camera on.  Cassian hastily looks out of the window, counts to five as she’s tracking across the table, then turns and grins.

“So,” he says to camera “Today it rained…”

“Yeah,” Jyn echoes, and starts to laugh.  She manages to keep steady for a second but then he starts to giggle as well and she has to put the camera down on the table before she drops it.  It isn’t until their hot drinks arrive a moment later that she realises she hasn’t switched off.  She laughs again. “Hope that gets cut, me sniggering isn’t really what we want on screen.”

As well as the drinks, their waiter has set down a saucer of cake slices; Cassian blinks at it. “Excuse me?  Should we have this?” It must be part of someone else’s order…

The man smiles. “It is for the house, for your coffees.  Vasilopita.  It is the traditional recipe.”

“Thank you,” Cassian says quickly, grateful to have been stopped before he rejected a courtesy. 

So much for trying to avoid eating cake every few hours.

“It’s nothing like Mara’s,” Jyn says after one bite. “Powder sugar and almonds.  Hers was all sticky syrup.  It’s nice though.  I should get a shot of this –“ she takes a swig of her chocolate. “Ooh, that’s good.  Warms you right up inside.”

They re-do the tracking shot, with cake and their steaming cups in view this time.  Cassian says “So, today it rained” again, and wraps his hands round his cup with a smile.  This time it goes perfectly and neither of them corpse.  

The strange intimacy of their moment in the church is still inside him like a bubble of happiness, and he’s pretty sure his ears are hot from more than just the ambient temperature.

They film him tasting the cake and he improvises a line or two about how it must be a different traditional recipe from the equally traditional recipe they tried yesterday. “I wonder, will we get more free cake before this leg of our journey is over?  It’s a custom I can certainly get behind.”

Jyn switches the camera off again. “Do you suppose maybe Luke will stop trying to get us on social media together?” she asks. “Now that we’ve – well  - got something on him?”

“He didn’t seem embarrassed to me,” Cassian says, remembering Luke’s dazed smile last night.

“No, more like on Cloud Nine!”

“I can understand that feeling…” He bites his lip, thinking. “Let’s cut him some slack?  Hope he does the same for us?”

And the crepe arrives, just in time to save him from further awkwardness.

They both seize gratefully on the long-handled silver spoons presented with it, and there’s a short, happy hush apart from the music of silverware on china.  Soon there’s just one bite left; Cassian hesitates and for a second Jyn does too, before their eyes meet and her grin increases till her front teeth show.  Very precisely she divides the last bit of pancake in half and squashes the last juicy cherry in two as well, pushing half onto each bit of crepe.  Then draws back, holding her spoon like a duelling sword.

“Race you?”

“Oh! – okay –“

Jyn has already dived in.  He’s too slow, he’s starting to laugh, and his spoon hits the plate well after hers.  By the time he’s scooped up his last bite she’s licking her lips and the back of her spoon.  She says “Very slow on the draw, Andor, you’ll never make a gunslinger!”

“I don’t think I wanna be a gunfighter anyway.  I’m more of the International Spy type, don’t you think?  Quiet, ordinary guy who’s also a sniper.”

“Mexican Bond?  Or Mexican Bourne?”

“More like the piano teacher guy in the first Bourne.”

“The Professor?  Ooh, creepy.  _Cassian Andor, well-known gourmet, TV presenter - and Secret Assassin!”_

Cassian laughs. “Yeah – ‘In the cut-throat world of the world’s top restaurants, one man decides; who lives, who dies, who tells your story?’”

“Got to be honest, I’d watch that show!”

They’re laughing at one another, at the horrendously tacky show concept and the image of Cassia as a cold-blooded killer; and first his phone and then hers chirrup with notifications.  Just as their hands were reaching out across the table top.  They both pull back quickly, blinking, caught out.

He’d prefer to hold hands instead of getting out his phone and checking what’s come up; but he mustn’t.  They decided.  They’re already making a mess of keeping to their decision.  _No romancing one another till we finish working together._

“Oh Luke,” says Jyn, huffing a breathy laugh, exasperation and affection mixed. And then in full-throated shock “ _Oh, my God, **Shara**_!”

He’s looking at the same two tweets.  Oh Luke.  Oh my God, Shara…

Luke’s; a photo of an exhibition display, sacks of dried pulses arranged prettily round an antique cooking pot.  Captioned **_Learning about the monastic diet #gastromuseumAthens #fullofbeans #theseguyssurelovetheirbeans_**

Shara’s, with the caption **_Found a great amulet to bring me good luck! #Kanellopouloscollection #luckydicks_** – and the picture is –

“Wow.”

“Hashtag lucky dicks,” Jyn reads. “Yeah.  Wow indeed.”

Now his ears are really hot. 

But the lucky dicks amulet is funny, and kind of cute once you get over the shock.  He can see why she tweeted it.  Why Kes probably urged her into it, and is probably now clutching his sides with hilarity as the likes come in.

A like from Kay. “Oh, my God,” he says again.  Then one from a username he’s seen before liking Jyn’s posts, bodhitherook.

“Oh boy,” says Jyn. “Now I’m for it.” She starts tapping madly.

Buzz.  **Bodhitherook:** HEY JYNSERSO WHY AREN’T YOU GETTING THE #LUCKYDICK AS WELL?

“Damn, he got there first.” Buzz.  Her tweet comes up.

 **Jynserso:** I swear this is nothing to do with me or the show. @tellmewhatyoueatofficial I’m so sorry my friends are lowering the tone

Buzz, buzz, buzz.  So many likes.  And retweets. 

Cassian can only feel two parts of his body; there’s blood rushing to his face, and a good deal more of it going south.  He’s crimson and breathless.  Jyn and dicks, Jyn and her smile and dicks; _oh God, why did Shara have to do that?_  

“The – the penis was a good luck symbol in ancient Rome as well,” he says hoarsely.

Jyn takes a deep, deep breath.  She’s scarlet, too.  She bites her lip. “Yeah.  That’s right, I read that somewhere too.” Swallows, meets his eye resolutely. “Well, that’s going on vague memories of school, so – I may have it all wrong –“

“I don’t think you’ve got it wrong.” He can’t help still looking at her, her beautiful eyes so full of heat, her beautiful lips, the redness flooding back as she releases the bottom one from between her teeth.  She’s blushing and fidgeting and she’s – so amazing.  So beautiful.  Such an amazing, talented person, so brave, so –

So much, and he feels -

So much.  He feels so much.

And he really needs to get outside and fucking cool off.

“We should probably pay, get back to the hotel.  Our pick-up is in thirty minutes.”

“Yeah.  Yeah, right.”

Their hands brush, just briefly, as they both drop their spoons back on the crepe plate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've fudged things slightly with regard to the Gastronomy Museum, as it seems to be currently non-operational, and the exhibition I've sent Luke to see was several years ago.  
> Sadly, I can't find a an image of the specific, miraculous, icon of the Panagia Gorgoepikoos from the Little Mitropolis. There are other icons of Mary and Jesus with the same imagery, so if you look it up you'll be sure to get an idea of what the icon looks like.  
> The "lucky dicks" amulet is entirely real and I will post a picture to the tumblr site if anyone is interested! It really is rather cute.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wine tasting, a last dinner in Greece with the whole team, and a magical moment at dawn...

The rain and the cold have come right down, so that the cloud cover hangs low over the mountains.  Not the mountains of Attica anymore, either.  They’ve gone across the Isthmus of Corinth and are officially in the Peloponnese. 

Their minibus even stopped for ten minutes at the Corinth Canal for them all to clamber out clutching umbrellas and pulling up coat collars; to stretch their legs, walk up to the bridge, and peer down at the deeply-cut channel.  An unassuming trawler crept along below, chugging from the Aegean to the Ionian sea.  The steady rain teemed down and incongruous country music played from a souvlaki stand crowded with truckers.  The car park was one vast seamless grey puddle. 

It was a relief to get to their afternoon filming stop; a historic winery near [Nemea](https://www.decanter.com/wine-travel/europe/peloponnese-travel-guide-17683/), where Cassian is smiling and sipping and chatting to the owner.  Gradually, as the filmed tasting goes on, he’s getting more pink about the ears, more smiley, more inclined to throw crinkle-eyed glances to camera.  To her camera, at least. 

Jyn didn’t get any wine, but she’s been feeling increasingly warm inside even without it. 

He seems to be trying to wink at her, his hopeless hopeful both-eyes-at-once wink that makes her heart flutter.

The enthusiastic Greek vintner at Omorfoyiali Fine Wines clearly loves his work and his products, but he keeps forgetting his lines, and the main “tasting” sequence has been re-done for multiple takes.  Every take, for continuity’s sake, involves glasses refilled to the brim.

At the end of the section, Cassian does a piece to camera and gets the giggles.  He keeps going, beaming into the lens; at the end of his lines he adds an impromptu “Life is good here, no matter what the weather!” with an expansive gesture towards the window behind him and the teeming rain running down it.

“And _cut_!” shouts Draven. “Okay.  Oh boy.  Please, Cassian, sit down and get your head straight, okay?  Now, Kay, can you get the slider set up and do a nice beauty shot of this table of wine bottles and glasses and the décor?  All these pumpkins and dried flowers?” He wanders off with Kay, pointedly ignoring his star and leaving him to Jyn and the others.

“Does he think I’m drunk?” Cassian asks her.  His voice is perhaps not as quiet as he seems to think. “I’m fine, you know that, right?” He grins down at her as he speaks, and his eyes crinkle unforgivably again.

“I’m sure you’re fine and everything’s cool, but you’re maybe a _tad_ happy right now.” Jyn can’t help moving closer, into the circle of cheerful warmth emanating from him, and on impulse she raises one hand to pat him playfully on the chest. “Anyway, he wants to get footage of the table-set next, so why don’t you sit down like the man suggested?”

There’s an opened bottle of mineral water on the table at his elbow; she pushes it towards him.

“We’ll have to stop soon, the light’s going,” Shara says in passing. “Did you get everything you want, Jyn?”

“Well, I’ve shot every line of that script at least four times.  Surely they can cobble something together in the edit?”

Cassian has sat down, as instructed, with his long legs sprawled out; he reaches up now and catches her hand unselfconsciously, and when she looks down he’s beaming. “I’m sure you got masses of really great stuff, Jyn.”

“Oh, well, I did my best.” _Please don’t let the others notice, please don’t let anyone photograph us holding hands.  His hand is so warm…_

“I love watching you work, you know that?  You love your work so much and it’s just so great watching you.”

“Ah, thanks.”

“Oh no,” Cassian says, grinning at her expression, and he giggles again. “Maybe I am just a little bit drunk.  I had a bit of that nice rosé and the sparkling wine too.  It might have been a bit more than a bit.  Oh, but it’s really good, Jyn, the sparkling wine.”

“It looks lovely.” She’s folding up and packing away kit; this is not the weather for carrying her main camera in the open uncovered.  In theory once this afternoon’s shoot is over they’re heading to their night’s accommodation, somewhere near ancient Corinth.  The rain is absolutely torrential now, and the temperature is dropping.  She suspects they’re in for a miserable night. 

“You should have a glass.  It won’t keep.” Cassian pulls the open bottle on the tasting table towards him and grabs his own used champagne flute and a spare one.  She looks down and tries to school her face into disapproval, but he’s making the most beautiful heart-eyes she’s ever seen, holdng up the empty crystal flute to her, and she melts.

“Well okay, just a taste.”

“Yes, yes, you must all taste!” exclaims Mr Yialikos, the owner, bustling forward and producing more glasses. “My sparkling wine is a very high quality, please notice the clarity and the very pale straw colour –“ Typical non-professional, bless him, he’s getting all his _tasting notes_ lines perfect at last, now the cameras are off him.

She lets Cassian fill the flute he was offering her; clear wine with skeins of tiny bubbles rising round the interior like elfin jewels set in gold.  Lets him hold it up to her; puts out her hand to him, and takes it.  He toasts her with his own glass.  Behind him Shara and Kes are accepting champagne from Mr Yialikos and Luke moves up, phone in hand.

_Please don’t let Luke take a snap of the two of us drinking bubbly together.  He’ll make a story out of that, it wouldn’t take much after all, I mean, when do you go and taste sparkling wine?  Only when you’re planning a special occasion…_

_And yet for all that.  Drinking bubbly with Cassian; how ridiculously happy this makes me.  As if we really were celebrating something.  I’m a fucking child._

It is, as he says, a very good wine.  Shara exclaims “Delicious!” and smiles at Mr Yialikos; smiles again for Luke’s Instagram shot. 

Kay appears at Cassian’s elbow, blocking the view in time to stop Luke getting another snap. “And that’s a wrap,” he says. “Let’s get going, shall we?  I have a bad feeling about the weather.”

**

By the time they’ve packed all their kit up and stowed it, in the dark and the rain, and sat damp and chilly for an hour’s drive through lurching zig-zag roads in the darkness, the thought of a hot supper is enticing.

Kay follows their route on his iPhone the whole way, and grumbles. “Why weren’t we booked somewhere nearer the location?  We’re retracing our steps from this afternoon.”

“Not steps,” Cassian corrects him. “Didn’t walk from Athens.” He’s still a bit smiley and giggly and Kay gives him an unamused stare.

“The honey producer for tomorrow is based near here,” Draven reminds them “and I’ve managed to line up a chance to shoot in the archaeological zone at Roman Corinth before it opens to the public.  So we’ll to have to make an early start.” He looks hassled, though that’s not unusual for him.

Their new accommodation does at least offer breakfast, and the option of an evening meal as well, since there’s a taverna downstairs.  They have a row of bedrooms on the first floor, all opening onto a large communal balcony.  It’s well after dark by the time they’ve all unloaded and when Jyn looks out, she can’t tell if there’s much of a view beyond the yellow streetlamps of the village around them.  Archaia Korinthos isn’t very large and she’s curious why they’ve stopped here rather than going a few kilometres further, into the nearby city of Corinth. 

When she goes outside and walks down to Draven’s door, he’s on the phone in his room and still looking harassed.  He pulls the shutters closed when he sees her watching.

At least the rain’s finally stopped, in the twenty minutes or so it took her to unpack.  She hovers outside as long as she can bear to, looking up as the clouds break and scurry before a steady wind.  Here and there she sees stars, and the moon comes peeping through.  There’s a spicy smell of woodsmoke and a meaty one of something cooking, and a fragmentary music comes and goes on the wind, coming from somewhere nearby.  A street over, there’s a line of dark pine trees tossing in each gust with a sound like the ocean.  South of the village she can see the bulk of a mountain, black against the deeper black of the sky; and to the north there’s another patch of lights, very far off, with reflections below them shivering in the sea. 

It’s beautiful and wild and she wants to share it with - someone.  But no-one else comes out and in the end she has to admit she’s shivering too. 

_January the fifth, and I’m standing outside freezing my tits off, pretending to myself that I’m not waiting in case a certain man decides to step out for a little fresh air before supper._

_Very fresh air. **Too** fresh.  Come on, idiot, indoors, now._

She marches herself back downstairs and into the taverna.

Everyone else bar Draven is already there.  So much for her silly fantasy of a private few minutes stargazing with Cassian. 

It’s he who spots her as she comes in.  The whole team are sitting at a long table by the window; there are drinks and bread on the table already and two of the staff are just bringing out dishes of appetisers.  Cassian moves his jacket from the chair nearest to him and waves to her, gesturing at the space with a show of casualness, belied by the hopelessly goofy grin he can’t quite conceal.

It’s their first meal together as a team since Germany; for some reasons everyone ate separately in Athens.  Well, maybe she knew some of the reasons.  Her own, for example.  Cassian’s.  But sitting here next to him now, with the rest of the crew smiling around her, she’s suddenly terribly glad to be part of a team.  Shara passes her a menu and Cassian is filling two glasses for her, one with water and another with red wine from a large [tinned-copper jug](https://www.dimtsas.eu/en/products/copper-items/traditional-copper-wine-jug/%CE%B4%CF%81%CE%AC%CE%BC%CE%B9-%CE%BF%CE%B9%CE%BD%CF%8C%CE%BC%CE%B5%CF%84%CF%81%CE%BF-%CF%87%CE%AC%CE%BB%CE%BA%CE%B9%CE%BD%CE%BF-1000-ml).  The evocative smell of food that had danced past her nostrils while she stood outside is concentrated and intense here.  The warmth soaks into her, from the log fire at the end of the room and the overhead heaters, and fills her with a sense of comfortable restfulness.

“What’s everyone having?” Kes asks, and she hurries to study the names of dishes on the menu.

Draven appears as they’re finalising their orders for entrees.  He orders [grilled chicken](https://maureenfraiche.wordpress.com/2012/09/07/kotopoulo-riganato-tis-skaras-broiled-chicken-oregano/) and a [beer](https://www.greece10best.com/greek-beers/) instead of wine.  Kes is having a [beef stifado](https://www.lovefood.com/recipes/56631/hairy-bikers-beef-stifado-recipe) and Shara something called [paidakia](http://www.mygreekdish.com/recipe/greek-lamb-chops-with-roast-potatoes-paidakia/) and a salad. 

“[Souvlaki](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Souvlaki)!” says Luke. “That’s kabobs, right?  Can't visit Greece and not try the kabobs!  And I want fries with them.  D’you suppose they come with fries or should I order them as an extra?”

“If you order extra and can’t manage them all, I’m sure we’ll be happy to help you,” Kes tells him.

“[Stuffed tomatoes](http://tastykitchen.com/recipes/sidedishes/stuffed-tomatoes-yemistes-domates/),” says Kay, pointing. “[Domates yiemistas](https://whodoesthedishes.com/recipes/greek-stuffed-tomatoes-domates-yemistes/).” He hands back his menu briskly.

Jyn thinks for a moment, and it strikes her suddenly that Cassian is also thinking.  Or waiting for her.  But why would he? – “I really want to try this [savoury pumpkin pie](http://phoodie.com.au/2016/08/23/pumpkin-pie-kolokithopita-phoodies-greek-kitchen-recipe-3/) I keep seeing on menus.  But I really like the sound of the [pastitsio](http://www.mygreekdish.com/recipe/pastitsio/) as well.  It sounds like comfort food.  Like spag bol and macaroni cheese paired up.” There’s an appetising smell of grilling meat coming out from the kitchen, too, making her mouth water.  An elderly gentleman in a huge white apron is inside, bending over the largest barbecue she’s ever seen and beaming paternally as he arranges chicken joints, souvlaki sticks and a line of little lamb chops on the grill.  Pastitsio, or pie?  Or should she have a souvlaki too? “I can’t decide,” she mourns, laughing at herself.

“Have both?” Cassian suggests.  She looks sharply round and he grins and winks at her over the rim of his glass.  Glory be, he can’t be tipsy again, can he?  But maybe, like her, he’s just feeling warmed-up inside and full of happiness at being home and dry for the night and safe with friends.

“Blimey,” she says, wondering how on earth she’s going to cope if he keeps twinkling at her mischievously like this?  She has to keep her hands to herself, has to deal with those smiling brown eyes and that bloody blinky-wink of his for –what? - another month... 

Well, even if she’s the picture of good manners, everyone is going to start staring at her soon if she doesn’t pull herself together and stop gazing at him. 

“Yeah, okay, fine.  That way we can all try a piece of each.”  _That way I can share a bit of my supper with you without it being obvious.  Maybe._  

“And I’m having the other two kinds of pie; [spinach pie](https://www.thekitchn.com/how-to-make-classic-spanakopita-230290) and [onion pie](https://greekodyssey.tv/pie/),” Cassian finishes the order cheerfully. “Everyone can have a taste of them too.”

Kes drums on the table with the butt of his knife and chants “Pie, pie, pie!” It sounds like a slogan, but no-one else seems to get it; he stops after a second and says embarrassed “Hey, I like pie!”

“Cool,” Luke says, swinging his phone up. “Can I get you saying that again?  Wanna join in, Shara?  Come on, you guys! - _We like pie, we like pie,_ huh?”

Laughter, and Kes puts a hand up to cover the lens. “Get lost, Skywalker!”

Oh, so he’s trying to get Kes and Shara in front of the camera too, eh?  Is Luke just a bit of a matchmaker? -  is that what all this is about?

There’s a bit of hair flopping onto Cassian’s forehead when she looks up at him, and for a moment she itches to reach up and brush it back.  Better not to risk it, not in front of everyone, even if in fact they aren’t the only ones being watched like hawks for any sign of interest in one another.

But she’s pretty sure they still are.  And they had that awkward but incredibly sweet conversation, and they made the decision it both codified and concealed, for good reasons.

_Dresden, the Christmas market, the whirling snow…  It was so beautiful.  And this is beautiful as well._

**_I like you…  I like having you around, too_ ** _…_

Oh, but they were supposed to be going to be so professional.  And the social media interest is so weird, and so plain bizarre, to her who’s never been an object of particular interest to anyone in her life.  She wants to stroke his hair, wants it so badly, but she can’t risk it.

_Nope, nope, Jyn, you’re not going to touch him.  Just enjoy your –_

_My - oh my God._

“Kali orexi!” says the smiling elderly gentleman setting down two large dinner plates in front of her.

_What have I done?_

Just enjoy your **enormous** supper.

**

It’s still dark when her alarm goes off; they’re scheduled to have just one hour in the ancient city before the gates open to the public at 8.00, and everyone needs to be there, on the spot and ready to get set up the moment they get in.  Which means getting up for breakfast at dawn.

Well, such is the life of an itinerant documentary maker.  At least they don’t have to wait while Cassian gets through two hours in make-up.  He’s probably had to do this sort of crack-of-dawn start thousands of times, in his telenovela career as well as since he began making these programmes.

The shower makes an odd roaring noise, and the drain is a bit smelly, but the water is hot and plentiful and the towel is fluffy.  She dresses quickly in her warm winter things.  When she opens the shutters, there’s condensation on the inside of the French doors.  Warmed up and buoyed up by the hot shower Jyn takes a gamble and swings the glass double door open, steps out onto the balcony in the first pale glimmering half-light, just before sunrise.  It’s bitterly cold and frost crunches underfoot.  Everything is still; the wind has dropped and the sky is clear, pellucid like a grey pearl.  The last stars are twinkling as they fade in the west. 

To the north, the village drops away; she can make out a coastal plain and then a couple of miles off, a broad sea inlet, and on the far side, snow-capped mountains.  A lighthouse on a promontory winks at her, a beam of light lancing down the open water and vanishing again quickly.  She inhales a deep breath of frosty air, smells the incense of woodsmoke again, and a touch of cinnamon from somewhere.  She turns to go back indoors, and stops dead. “Oh!”

South, where last night against the darkness she’d been able to pick out the shape of a single peak, she can see now there’s a massive, steep-sided crag looming right behind the village.  The first faint light catches on sheer rock faces, and gleams on a circuit of castle walls and bright ruined towers, high, high above her.  On the highest point a keep shines like a tiny gold box.  It’s like something from a fantasy film, or out of a dream.  Jyn stares, lost for words. 

The light is growing all the time.  The castle on the mountainside glints, rose-petal pink and pearly, a stone necklace round the mountain.  On the far side, the shadows are deep blue-grey; she can see the light moving down the hillside as the sun gets nearer the horizon.  Film it - _film it!_ \- “Oh, my God, oh my God, what am I doing oh my God, camera, where's the camera?"

Jyn scampers inside and grabs up the small HD camera, rushes back out, flicking switches and calibrating as fast as she can for low light conditions in the foreground and brighter light far off.  No time to do test shots, or to see if Shara is awake to advise her; the sun is rising faster every second.  She points and shoots.  Dawn rising over the Peloponnese, over a magical castle on a mountaintop. 

She gets maybe twenty seconds of the mystical vision; and the perfect first shaft of brilliance as the sun breaks over the horizon, bathing the whole village in oblique golden light.  Perfect shot is perfect.  She got it.  Joy fills her, heady like sparkling wine.

Her hands are freezing.  She turns off and lets the camera swing, stands blowing on her fingers.  Her breath curls out, white against the radiance. 

It’s all so ridiculously beautiful she finds herself chuckling softly in delight.  Behind her a familiar voice says quietly “Wow…” and she turns, somehow not surprised, to see Cassian standing there.  He’s bareheaded in the dawn, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his parka.  His breath too is misty white in the cold.  He looks from the castle to the sunrise, to her.

“That’s amazing,” he says.

“Isn’t it stunning?  I swear, this trip – there’ve been so many beautiful, beautiful things.  Like that castle.  It’s like something out of a fairy-tale.  I never in my wildest dreams thought I’d get to see so many beautiful sights and places.”

She’s keeping her voice low, purposely, though the others must all be getting up too by now; but she wants to keep this moment between just the two of them.  The rest of today will be spent, she knows, hurrying from one shoot to the next, and they’re unlikely to have another chance just to be together till their next destination.  They’re due to spend an hour filming in the ruins of ancient Corinth, then there’s three hours of watching Cassian taste [honeys from different regions and flower types](http://www.greekgastronomyguide.gr/en/greek-honey/) (and no doubt he will lick his fingers a lot, and smile, and be even sweeter than sweet golden honey itself), and then the best part of two hours driving to somewhere called Perama for a short ferry trip to Piraeus, solely in order to shoot Cassian on board a ship (with the wind in his hair and his eyes crinkled as he smiles into the sun, at least if she has any say in it).  Because apparently Greece is so synonymous with Island Hopping that you cannot technically film there without going to an island.  Which they will, for all of twenty minutes, changing from one ferry to the next on the island of Salamis.

Then back to Athens and straight out to the airport.

Oh well.  Athens was great, now Corinth, Salamis, Piraeus.  Famous, resonant names.  She really is getting quite the whistle-stop tour of European history.

She moves towards Cassian, looking up at his slight smile in the dawn light. “I’ve been back to places I didn’t know if I’d ever get to visit again, and I’ve seen things I had no idea even existed.  I am so, so lucky.”

The scent of cinnamon is getting stronger, and of baking, and coffee.  Fresh bread.  Cake, too, in all likelihood.  There seems to be cake everywhere they go lately.

“I am so lucky to have you here,” Cassian tells her softly. 

The light is getting stronger by the minute.  It’s Epiphany, Jyn suddenly remembers, last night was Twelfth Night.  Christmas is over, the strangest and most magical Christmas she’s spent in years, and the New Year is well under way.  New Year, new start, that’s what they say, isn’t it?

No-one else is about yet; or else, they’re all downstairs already, tucking into the coffee and bread, the yogurt and honey, and whatever other goodies the breakfast here can offer.  While she and Cassian stand on a roof terrace in the freezing cold, just looking at one another.  Looking and smiling.  She could fall into his smile and stay there, and be perfectly happy, for a long, long time.

The sun rises.  The sky is already blue.  It’s bloody freezing and they have a stupidly packed schedule.  But Jyn couldn’t be happier if she were in paradise.  And she can’t help feeling it’s the same for him.

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” she says.

It’s going to be a beautiful day, and a beautiful year.  She just knows it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for Greece! Sorry this went on longer than it should have. Over to you, @wintersend!

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to upload a couple of photographs but my limited technical skills are preventing me!  
> Our heroes are staying on Evripidou street, at the Athinaikon Hotel, which is scruffy but delightful and run by an incredibly nice family. Evripidou runs along the northern edge of the Psiri district, which is a really great area; central, lively, still pretty working class but starting to be gentrified enough to have some really good restaurants, cafés and bars but without losing its normal local shops yet.  
> I've added links to recipes for the dishes they choose from the menu at Oinopoleion. Greek cookery recipes tend to vary enormously for the same dish, it's definitely one of those cuisines where everyone does it the way their granny did, so there are a lot of variants for everything you cook! I've chosen recipes that look fairly typical, and these are the kind of dishes you'd expect to find on a winter menu.


End file.
